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would be badly outnumbered. He thought about it as he slid his own shield from shoulder to arm. Then he heard Ian's voice, low and sing-song. |
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There was no reply. The morningstar swung suggestively on its barbed chain, but the continuing spate of words were too low to hear. Owain licked his lips nervously and settled his helmet firmly over his mail hood. Something bad was going to happen. |
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There was not much longer to wait, which was just as well, for Ian's mental balance was teetering nearer and nearer the edge of dissolution. Horn stopped and pointed ahead. Faintly there was the sound of voices; the tone indicated that men were shouting, although distance softened and made the words indistinguishable. The two huntsmen slipped from the cruppers of the horses and moved west. Ian signaled, and some of the troop, Jamie leading, followed them. |
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"Wait," Ian whispered to himself. "Wait. Do not spoil all. Wait." |
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One last time the nightjar whistled. |
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"Forward!" Ian snarled softly, but the men heard. |
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The shouting increased in volume as they moved, increased until there was one louder shriek of alarm. Then all sound cut off. |
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"Forward!" Ian bellowed, setting spurs to his horse. |
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It seemed as if a single stride took the stallion the last few yards. He burst into a small clearing where three men stood centered within a larger group, all motion arrested by surprise. Another leap took the horse into the group. One man flew from the destrier's shoulder, another shrieked as he fell beneath the ironshod hooves. There was a sweet, wet squelch as a third was brained by the morningstar. That man did not cry out at all, but another screamed as the return stroke tore half his face away, and screamed as he fell, and went on screaming. The tableau shattered. The clearing was full of frantic motionmen-at-arms on horses |
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